A strange brown dust seemed to be fluttering down on Shepherd's Bush this morning and I wondered if North Korea or America had started the nuclear war already, but it hadn't made the news. It wouldn't make much difference if they nuclear bombed the Bush. Who'd be able to tell? Did you hear me? It already looks like it's been hit by a bomb. That's what I am inferring there. And all the residents look like the victims of radiation sickness. Do you get it? I can explain it a bit more if you like. I am funny.
It turned out to be snow (I think) though I was a bit confused by the colour. Nothing can get into Shepherd's Bush without being tainted with grime. You should take a look at my new car. Thank God I've got all that cleaning equipment now. I am fearful of taking it outside though in case it also gets soiled. Everything is covered in a sticky residue. Maybe we actually have been nuclear bombed. In which case my earlier levity was very much misplaced and I apologise to the many suffering victims. It would make sense of all the suppurating wounds and zombie-like figures staggering towards me every time I go the Hammersmith and Shitty line. And why there are no trains at that station ever. Or any food on the shelves. And why there is a bit crater at the heart of the area. Shit. I look like a prick now.
Perhaps foolishly given that I haven't been too well and still have quite a bad cough I decided to go for a run through the snow. I've got really out of shape in the last six months and I have a half marathon to run in October.
I found it really invigorating and managed a 3 mile run pretty comfortably (although I did worry I had coughed up part of my lung at one point). Running in the cold is a great idea. It warms you up a bit, but it keeps you moving. I think I might have walked the last half a mile, but the fear of getting cold spurred me on. It also got my brain spinning a bit with ideas and I came up with a slightly weird idea to start the new show involving bringing home to people what death actually is, followed by me running around and doing loads of clown schtick. It might work. I probably won't do it. But it was nice to feel my brain whirring into action again.
And as stupid as it was to run whilst ill I think it made me feel better overall. I did feel a bit weird on stage again tonight, but I think because I had eaten too much a bit too close to stage time.
I was back at the Cardiff Glee, a venue that I comfortably sold out in advance two years ago, but which was only about two thirds full tonight. Cardiff is genuinely one of my top three towns to play and the people here are my kind of misfit so I felt a little bit disappointed that for whatever reason the numbers were a bit low, but the tour continues to confound - The Bloomsbury Theatre gigs next week are pretty much sold out already and they'd put extra tickets on sale for Dublin on Saturday.
And we were well looked after by the Glee as always and the crowd were behind me. Doing the show in a comedy club really loosens it up in a way that I find hard to achieve in a theatre. Once I'd got over the fear that I was having a heart attack it was a playful show which made me laugh in quite a few places. It's good that I can still enjoy my job when I am a little bit ill. But increasingly I appreciate how lucky I am to do it and to have this many people coming to see me. It's a fucking delight. I only I can hope doing it forever or until nuclear war destroys us all (whichever is sooner). As my indigestion tricked me into thinking it was a heart attack I did think that it would be a shame to die right there and then, but I was also happy that I was on stage and doing this thing that I love so much. I hope I can do a Tommy Cooper, but I think it's much more likely that I'll go like Elvis.
The manager of the venue told me that a recent support act for a musician had attempted to steal all the tea and coffee from the dressing room. Not only that he'd tried to walk off with the kettle and coffee machine and had a go at nicking the telly. That's pretty extreme behaviour. He got stopped on his way out. I feel a bit guilty if I take a couple of bottles of water with me. I know we're starving artists, but I don't think the rider extends to everything in the dressing room.
I thought about trying to take the sofa and chairs with us as a kind of joke, but thought better of it, just in case we were banned for life too.
I am trying to get the "We're All Going To Die!" Scope fundraising programme out a little bit earlier than usual this year (so it's ready for all the previews). So if you want to get your name in the programme and receive a signed and numbered limited edition programme through the post, then please donate at least £15 (the more you donate, the bigger your name will appear) at
http://www.justgiving.com/wereallgoingtodie. Then email me your address to herring1967@gmail.com and I will post you your programme (probably in August). More importantly, all your money goes to help the fantastic work in promoting equality for disabled people (and much more) that Scope does.
Whatever name you put in the donations section will be what appears in the programme. If you donate less than £15 I will probably still put your name in but won't be able to send you a programme through the post. Please donate by May 17th as after that the programme will be at the printers and you'll only be able to get your name in by writing it in yourself.
Also if you or your company wants to advertise in a programme that will be give free to 20,000 comedy fans then email me to find about very competitive rates for quarter, half and full pages. Prices may rise later if demand proves strong, so get in now while it's relatively cheap.
Oh and a few of you asked - I finally collated the music that plays while you're waiting for the show to start
Your Mother's Got A Penis - Goldie LookinÂ’ Chain
Handjob, Blandjob, I DonÂ’t Understand Job - Garfunkel and Oates
The Penis Song - Momus
Penis Song (Not the Noel Coward Song) - Monty Python
Detachable Penis - King Missile
Letter To My Penis - Rodney Carrington
Hitler's Cock - Beehive and the Barracudas
A Complete History of Penis Envy (Sizes 24-29) - Momus
Cock-A-Doodle-Doo -The Wiggles
My Grandfather's Cock - Kevin Bloody Wilson
Enormous Penis - Da VinciÂ’s Notebook
Little Willy - Sweet
My Ding-A-Ling - Chuck Berry
Monster - Fred Schneider
That's My Erection - Kunt and the Gang
Orgasm Addict - Buzzcocks
Every Sperm Is Sacred - Monty Python
I Want My Foreskin Back - Insane Lane Band
My Weapon - XTC
Yummy Yummy Yummy - Ohio Express
Big Six - Judge Dread
Willie And The Hand Jive - Eric Clapton
You Are Awful, But I Like You - Dick Emery?
Yes We Have No Bananas - Not sure (sounds a bit like Jim Dale)
Hit Me With Your Rhythm Stick - Ian Dury
Walk on Music
Evil Dick - Body Count
End Music
Happiness - Ken Dodd
